Dragonflies do not like to land on water or hover a quarter-inch above it, nor do they like waterlily pads that float on the surface. They like reeds, they like to perch as eagles. I may have mentioned we have a circular steel tank 80 inches across that had to be moved 100 feet, for the simple reason it was too far back for us to keep up with the things going on in it. What a heroic effort. The tank was lined outside with cement and tiles and these had to be removed. The water had to be got out -- I have never seen the pool drainpipe I could trust, and I will not have one. The gunk on the pool bottom clogged the siphon hose, so bailing was necessary. And moving the monster without damaging too many plants was tricky, and I fear several day lilies will never come back. So much for dark nights of the soul. Within days, in its new site near the kitchen door, the pool has a look of settled age. It sits atop the earth but the crinum and other hefty plants already conceal its naked sides. In the pool life races ahead. Three tubs of dwarf waterlilies are blooming their heads off and some further tubs of waterlilies from seed are a daily pleasure as they grow in strength. The 10 goldfish are much at home after a 10-day sulk; they now swim in two schools and sample the waterweed. One morning I saw a blue dragonfly sitting on a lily pad. That evening it was floating in the water, dead. I fished it out, as often insects seem drowned but revive nicely if dried off, but this one perished. Promptly I found a thin bamboo stake and stuck it in a tub of waterlilies, and since then no dragonfly has drowned. Almost any minute of the day you will find one of these elegant insects perched on the stake. The lesson to be learned today, therefore, is to provide either reeds or a stake for your dragonflies. They do not bite or sting people, a thing I mention in case you are a city ignoramus and thought they did. They are nothing but good and fair, a sufficient reason for summer to exist. The recent torrents, and possibly a slight overdose of fertilizer, have caused the tomatoes in their wire cages to reach higher than six feet by the end of June. It has been too wet for the beautiful tomato hornworms, the only good thing I can think of to say about all this excess water. Hornworms really do damage and must be removed, and the best way is handpicking. I have tried putting them on camellias and other plants, but they do not adapt and just die. Such is the price of a tomato. It is a question that may as well be faced squarely. Some city gardeners are too embarrassed to speak of it, but often when they pick tomatoes in July and August they notice a bite has been taken out. They suspect rats, and of course do not want anybody to know it. It will comfort them to know that squirrels, not rats, are the usual offenders. A gardener tends not to eat a tomato sampled by a rat, but has no objection to a little sampling by squirrels. Someone asked me the best roof for an arbor and I gave a ready and correct answer: a grapevine. Nothing is that vine's equal for providing shade that is just right. I almost think there is something magical in grape leaves -- something that cools the air better than other leaves. It's true that in a downpour the grape does not provide waterproof shelter. In that case, the gardener could either get wet or go indoors. I do not see the problem. But man and boy I have loved all kinds of vines for nigh on a century, and have yet to find another vine equal to the grape for shade. The fruit, apart from being delicious (some say) draws wasps from six counties, but if the canopy is eight feet or so above the ground the wasps can go their way and the gardener can go his. We have days with the thermometer near 100 degrees, but we also have cooler days or, in any case, cooler nights. Gardeners with extra energy, or with kids that can still be forced into something useful, may wish to dig a nice bed for daffodils that will be planted in September. Nothing is better, for getting to know daffodils intimately, than growing them in simple rows in a sunny spot in a bed dug 20 inches deep (or three feet, but who will not give out at 20 inches?) Three or four inches of leaf mold is my counsel of perfection, and assuming you do not have a couple of forests to ravage, make do as well as you can. Peat moss works well, and of course old compost, but there is never enough to go round. Dig now, let it settle, and you will be enchanted with its condition by early fall. I almost never dream up sweaty things for the gardener to do, but deep digging for plants that will be there for years is one of the few sweaty things that truly are worthwhile.